


the fireworks are through, here we are, me and you

by orphan_account



Category: New Girl
Genre: Almost a month late, M/M, New Year's Eve, background jess/cece for like two seconds if you squint, the manbulance, which i would like you to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22298395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: 2012 doesn't start how it's supposed to.
Relationships: Nick Miller & Schmidt (New Girl), Nick Miller/Schmidt (New Girl)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 158





	the fireworks are through, here we are, me and you

“Too bad we can’t go to Jess and Cece’s party,” Winston says from the seat behind Nick as the guys make their way to some club for what Schmidt refers to as The Only New Year’s Eve Party Worth Attending. He says it like a title. Even though the party does have an actual title, which Nick can’t remember, but definitely contains a pun. “I’m not looking forward to watching you talk to Benjamin.”

“Stop complaining, you won’t even have to, that much, Schmidt says. “Besides, I know neither of you have anything else to do.”

“Hey, I have other parties I can go to. They’re just worse.”

“Yeah,” Nick chimes, twisting his arm behind him to high five Winston. 

They’re not that much worse. Schmidt has gone over the list of amenities a dozen times, and Nick still doesn’t get the appeal of a fish spa. 

They’re driving there and taking cabs back. Schmidt has a personal blueprint for the night (a nobody-goes-home-alone sort of thing. He was explicit about that) that has already been delayed by half an hour, which, okay, is Nick’s fault. But he hasn’t been too uptight about it, which is nice. He’s going over the blueprint again when Winston interrupts him. 

“Pull over.” 

“What?” Schmidt questions. 

“Pull over, or I’m gonna throw up in your car!” 

He immediately pulls into a McDonald’s parking lot. Winston gets out of the car and dry heaves for about a minute before turning back to Nick and Schmidt, relieved.

“That was close. I thought that shrimp got to me.”

“Get back in, we’re gonna be late,” Schmidt says. He’s a little uptight. 

Winston’s expression drops again. He brings a hand to his stomach, turns around, and sprints into the McDonald’s. 

-

“This is terrible,” Schmidt says.

“It’s just food poisoning, he’ll be fine. I told him not to eat that shrimp.” 

“He’s been in there forever, let’s face it, it’s gonna be midnight soon.”

“It’s not the end of the world, we’ll just be a little late,” Nick says, flipping through radio stations. 

“The whole point of a New Year’s Eve party is that is starts on New Year’s Eve,” Schmidt retorts. “And don’t start with the whole ‘calendars are fake’ thing, because you know my thoughts on the matter and I refuse to get into it again.” (Schmidt’s thoughts on the matter are wrong, and so are Winston’s.)

“Well there’s nothing we can do, unless you want to abandon Winston, so, whatever. I’m sure we’ll make it next time.”

Schmidt doesn’t argue, though he looks unsatisfied in that way where he wants you to know he’s unsatisfied, and Nick keeps changing stations until he settles on some rock channel. 

They keep waiting in almost-silence for a few more minutes, and it really is pretty boring just sitting there. Nick is noticing the spots on the windshield, and he considers leaning forward and rubbing at them. He wonders if this is what Schmidt feels like all the time and if that’s why he takes the time to do things like fold his pants. 

Schmidt is drumming his fingers on the door. They’re all shiny because got a manicure to ‘start the New Year right.’ He checks the clock on the dashboard, then his phone, then looks over to Nick. He has that face that Nick usually takes as a warning for gratuitous affection or certain kinds of weird statements. 

“One minute ‘til midnight.” 

“Stop that.” 

“I haven’t done anything,” Schmidt says, indignant. He spreads his arms out and waves them around as much as he can in a parked car, as if to point to all the nothing.

“No, I know that look. You’re not gonna kiss me.”

“Well, there’s no one else to choose from.” 

“Then don’t kiss anyone, Schmidt.” 

Schmidt huffs. “And what, just sit here, listening to terrible music–”

“Terrible?”

“–waiting for Winston to be done vomiting, or whatever is happening, as we enter the New Year? We should at least do s–” Schmidt cuts himself off at the distant sound of fireworks, and he checks his phone. “Great, we missed it.” 

“That is great.”

“Damn it! I told you we should have left earlier.” Schmidt sighs. 

“Calm down.” Schmidt side-eyes him. Again with the unsatisfied look. “Most people don’t take that whole kiss thing so seriously. I mean, what’s the point, we know by now it doesn’t actually give you three wishes.” 

“I’m not mad about that, I’m mad that I’m spending tonight here! I was supposed to be with a beautiful woman in shiny clothing right now, and also not in a parking lot.”

“Well, that’s understandable.”

“Do you really think that’s why people kiss at midnight? On New Year’s?” 

“Is it not?”

“Oh, you are all turned around, buddy.” 

“Oh yeah, well why do they do it then?” 

“Because, I don’t know! Free kiss, what does it matter? It’s supposed to be fun!” Schmidt's passionate about his answer for someone who clearly knows less than Nick does about this. 

“Whatever you say.”

“Was there a point in your life where you actually thought you would get wishes?” 

“Yeah, that’s the whole reason I had my first kiss.” Jodie Kabler, fifth grade. Terrible. 

“How long did you believe that?” Schmidt asks, his eyebrows arched into an expression that makes him seem concerned but in a rude way. But he sounds genuine. Nick mumbles something incomprehensible. “What?” 

“I don’t want to say, now!” Fourteen. 

“Nicholas, I say this with love, but I can’t imagine why you weren’t bullied more as a child.” 

“Only winston bullied me.”

“Shocking.”

“I bullied him, too, though.” He bullied Winston more. “One time he almost got me to lick a dead squirrel, but I didn’t do it.”

Schmidt shivers, which Nick thinks is a little melodramatic. “That’s not bullying, it’s just children being disgusting.”

“Yeah, but not even the part that’s normally on the outside.”

Schmidt rolls his eyes and breathes like he’s trying to calm down enough to stop himself from joining Winston in the bathroom. “That is incredible. I hope you were at least under ten.”

“I was not.”

-

“Okay,” Winston says, as he gets back in the car. “I’m feeling a lot better now, so—hold on—yeah, I spoke too soon. One moment please.” 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Schmidt groans as he runs back in. 

-

“What did you wish for when you thought you had wishes?” 

“I wanted to control people’s thoughts. And have money and a magic dog.”

“Hm.” Schmidt thinks. “If I had three wishes I would get a rotating closet. In place of the money.” 

-

When Winston is back again—this time, less than five minutes later—he tells Nick and Schmidt to leave without him. 

“I actually met a girl, in the McDonald’s, and we’re gonna go back to her place, so, don’t wait up.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Nick asks. 

“Well, I don’t think she’s a murderer,” Winston says, like he’s beginning to consider it.

“I mean because you were just in the bathroom for a very long time.”

“I’m fine, I’m all emptied out,” Winston says, followed by a face of mild regret. Schmidt groans. 

“Eugh. Okay.” 

Winston raps his ringers on the door below Nick’s open window and leaves. “Happy New Year!” He shouts as he walks, without turning around.

“Well, we’re going to your party after all,” Nick says. 

“We might as well,” Schmidt replies. 

It’s all pretty much a blur—one second they’re parked, the next, Schmidt’s car has been rammed from behind by a clearly intoxicated drive-thru patron, who doesn’t even have the decency to apologize before speeding off in their own now-battered car. Nick is a little impressed that they managed to hit it so hard in a parking lot. Schmidt tries to chase down the car and Nick, obviously, follows, even though if anyone is capable of catching up, it isn’t him. They yell at the guy until way after he definitely can’t hear them. 

Since they probably shouldn’t leave the car sitting in the non-parking spot area of the parking lot, Nick turns back. He puts a hand and Schmidt’s back to guide him. He really hopes Schmidt looks more winded than he does right now. 

“Come on, man.”

Schmidt walks with him and puts a hand over his, which Nick doesn’t remove because that seems like it would be a dick move. Schmidt breaks away when he gets a good look at the back of his car. It’s bad. Definitely still functioning, although that wasn’t in question, but the trunk door might be bent shut and there are areas that are reminiscent of tin foil. 

“What have they done to you?” Schmidt asks, quietly. He walks over and squats to look at the dent. He puts a hand on it and looks super distraught, like something a lot worse and less fixable than this just happened. 

“Are you crying?” Nick asks. 

“Yes, I’m crying, look at this!”

A Honda honks behind them. 

“Go the other way!” Nick yells, gesturing to the side. “Ridiculous.”

Schmidt swears the car isn’t driving as smoothly, even though Nick doesn’t feel a difference. They don’t go to the party because Schmidt is in mourning. Nick thinks mourning is a little strong, but he understands the decision. This does officially ruin the night. And if he didn’t understand the decision, he still wouldn’t mind at this point. It’s just another night, really, since years are meaningless. And Nick doesn’t care about hooking up with anyone right now, or getting super drunk, or whatever. He can do that whenever wants, because he’s a grown up. He makes his own decisions. 

So they call it a night. Schmidt’s all quiet and dejected on the drive back to the loft, mumbling things occasionally, until Nick gets him to have the calander argument again. After that, he’s mostly normal. 

-

It’s almost one when they get off the elevator, and the people below them are having a party and being loud. The sound is dull in the hallway, but the sound of intermittent cheering is unmistakable. 

“I bet they’re having fun,” Schmidt says. 

“Not as much fun as we’re gonna have watching tv,” Nick responds, and kind of means it.

Schmidt unlocks the door and they go in. Inside the loft, the neighbor’s music is less of a dull pulse and and more actually annoying. Nick will probably go yell at them or jump on the floor or something if they’re still at it in an hour, or if the tv can’t drown them out. They go into the kitchen and Schmidt opens the cabinet with his good crackers in it—they don’t share real estate with the other snack foods, lest they be eaten by mistake—and instead of taking them out, he turns around. He says he’s sorry the night has been so miserable, which is a stupid thing to say since he’s not the one who hit his car.

“Don’t apologize to me, man, I’m the reason we were late in the first place.” Nick doesn’t mind staying home tonight. Honestly. “Plus, I don’t care. It’s not like it’s our first boring New Year’s together.” 

Schmidt grins at that, all genuine and unrestrained. Nick likes when he does that. He really thought Schmidt was going to be all pouty the rest of the night, and he wouldn’t have blamed him. 

“I kind of don’t care that much, either,” Schmidt says, still smiling and leaning in a tiny bit, like that’s a secret. 

“Yeah?”

“I did, but now I just want to be home!” Schmidt seems entertained by himself right now. Nick kind of wants to kiss him. Which is a weird thought to have. Weird, but probably not significant. They’ve been friends for a long time. 

It’s been a weird few years. A weird, long, several years of his life. 

Nick doesn’t think about it. What the hell, right? He can do what he wants. 

Schmidt kisses him back, because of course he does, but it’s still kind of a relief. He pulls back after a few seconds. 

“What was that about?” Schmidt asks.

“You– I don’t know, you, you were making a face.” 

Schmidt frowns. “I’m always making a face,” he says, skeptical. Nick doesn’t know what to say to that, other than ‘you looked happy and you look nice when you look happy and it made me feel like putting my face on your face,’ which he isn’t going to say. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Schmidt reaches forward and touches his arm, lightly. Oh, boy. Nick takes a deep breath. 

It’s definitely a real kiss this time—he puts his arms around Schmidt’s back and everything, and  
Schmidt pulls him in until he’s pressing him against the counter. His hands are on Nick’s jaw, and then he moves one to his hairline, so his fingers are in Nick’s hair and his palms are on the skin of his neck. Schmidt’s hands are really smooth. Nick knew this already, but now he’s very aware of it. 

It’s slow, but not so much that it feels super intimate and corny, and Schmidt’s tongue is in his mouth, and Nick is enjoying it. More than he planned to. This explains why so many women like him. 

They kiss for a few minutes, uninterrupted except for a couple seconds of Schmidt smiling too much, and it feels nice, in kind of a hot way, for someone to do that against his face. And then they can hear Jess and Cece in the hallway, laughing and generally being loud enough to announce themselves to the whole world, so Nick steps back. Schmidt puts his hands on the counter behind him.

“That was fun,” Schmidt says. It’s awkward to look at him now, because he looks the same as he always does, and that’s really freaking Nick out for some reason. He’s wearing this gray fancy shirt that he’s worn a bunch of times that is not meant to be worn by someone Nick just kind of made out with. 

He clears his throat and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, a gesture Schmidt seems to disapprove of, inexplicably. “Yeah, I got no complaints.” 

He grabs a beer and sits on the couch as Jess struggles with the lock for an almost unnatural amount of time. Nick reminds himself to check tomorrow if it needs a fix. He looks back over at Schmidt, who’s still standing there by the counter. 

“Um, you got– your face is all red, kind of,” Nick informs him. 

Schmidt grins briefly at that, then changes his expression to a never-before-seen-to-Nick-Miller mix between a bro look and what is, presumably, an attempt to be sexy. A lot of looks tonight. Nick is glad his face is less dynamic. 

“Oh, yeah, cool, cool. That’s fine,” he says, lifting his chin a little. 

“Don’t be weird.”

“Am I being weird?” 

“Yes.” This is going to be super bad. 

Jess finally manages her way in, giggly and swaying, with Cece beside her in a similar state. That’s a relief. Nick is sure that a sober Jess would be able to sense what just happened with at least twenty percent accuracy, and if anyone would make a whole thing about it, it’s her. (Or him. Or Schmidt.) Instead, she stops and awkwardly straightens out her posture, like she has any reason to pretend she’s not drunk right now. 

“Hello, Miller. I hope you’ve had as good a night as I.” At that, Cece jabs her in the arm, and Nick gives them a wave as they head for Jess’ room. 

Schmidt is still standing there. 

“Tv?” Nick asks. 

“Yeah,” Schmidt replies, and sits down in the corner of the couch.


End file.
